Making Mistakes
by ToxicFools
Summary: Little snapshots from Dean and Sam's view, on their life as hunters, brothers and humans.


Making Mistakes

A/N: So here's my first try at fanfiction. I hope you'll like it and tell me what you think about it. The band who provided the lyrics for this little one-shot is called "Martin&James". They're pretty good and I think the lyrics just were _made_ for Supernatural!

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own "Supernatural" . The show is the property of Eric Kripke and so on. (Lucky bastard; You gotta think about it…He has Jared and Jensen running around him the whole day, trying to make him happy! =D )I make no money from any of this. I'm merely a fan having some fun with the characters.

Warnings: Coarse language (Well, ya know…it's Dean!), the apocalypse, some angst… I think that's it! =)

Little bits of light  
I can't see it your way, you can't see it my way please,  
Maybe we're too close to see,  
Open up and let it be, All that it can be  
Sometimes, just a little bit of light,  
Little bit of light, little bit of light,  
Is what I need  
You shut down your borders,  
Close your eyes and throw your words around,  
When everything gets hard to take,  
You disappear and hide away,  
And hope you won't be found,  
Sometimes, just a little bit of light...

Dean leaned his tired head against the door. _Sammy sometimes you are more difficult than all of those women, who get clingy in the mornings when I try to leave. _

It's times like these that Dean just can't understand… Doesn't know what's going on in the shaggy-haired head of his brother. Not like his dad's any better. He's just as hotheaded and stubborn as the giant that is his little brother. The green-eyed hunter smirked at the old and rickety motel room door; he didn't even need to open his eyes to picture the sight of his current 'home,' they were always the same.

Dean didn't think that Sam would actually someday walk out of one of those many different doors and not come back later, with a kicked puppy-dog look in his eyes and his hands deep in the pockets of his old jacket or one of his many hoodies.

'Cause they were still a family and Sam wouldn't just bail out on them. On him.

2 weeks later, Dean sat on a smelly old motel bed with an unbelieving expression upon his face as he looked on at the apocalypse, which was taking forth in front of him, with wide eyes.

In the form of a letter. An acceptance letter. From Stanford.

Wrong Directions  
You roll your eyes to the sky, I close mine  
You ask your questions why, I don't mind  
I know I'm moving in the wrong directions,  
Oh no, making all the wrong connections,  
You lay your tracks on the ground, and follow them 'round  
I'll build my house in the sand, 'till the waves knock it down  
I know I'm moving in the wrong directions,  
making all the wrong connections,  
They say that love is a sound  
And it follows you 'round, follows you 'round  
They say that sound is a drug, and I can't get enough,  
I can't get enough, I can't get enough  
Oh no, it's not enough to say I'm sorry  
I know I'm moving in the wrong directions,

Sam didn't know what to expect from Dean when his brother came back from the dead. He didn't know what to think about this new, colder and angry Dean. This shell of a man, who once upon a time was his brother.

He didn't know what to do with Ruby, the demon blood and all the other shit that started to hit the fan when Dean had died.

He missed the times when he actually knew what to do. When he actually knew just what the right thing to do _was_. He missed the times Dean would look at him and just see his baby-brother. Not the man who fucked a demon for kicks or the man who would kill people if it only meant he could get more demon blood.

He felt like a junkie. He hungered for so many things. He hungered for the times when Dean would smile at him and call him Sammy. He hungered for the times when his Dad would look at him proudly and tell him: "You did good, son." And he hungered for the times he would wake, because of long blonde hair that tickled his face and because of the smell of coconut shampoo wafting up his nose.

So he did the only thing he actually knew how to do right.

He hunted.

Broken Sword  
There's no time, no time  
To answer all the questions in your mind,  
Nothing will belong to what you find,  
There's no way, no way  
To echo all the things you want to say,  
Nothings gonna change for you today,

And i've just got to say,  
And i've just got to say,  
I'm just a broken sword  
I'm just a broken sword

There's no one, no one  
No other that can take me in your arms, your arms,  
And silence all the noise that is this world,  
This world,  
And i've just got to say, (things that you never said),  
And i've just got to say,  
I'm just a broken sword  
I'm just a broken sword

Castiel was telling him what think. Uriel was telling him what to do. His mind was telling him to _stop. His mind was screaming at him just too fucking stop and let those betraying bastards fight on their fucking own!_

His brain was telling him about the many things that could possibly go wrong. Everything was spinning and bouncing out of control but he kept going. He couldn't stop. _How could he stop with so many lives depending on him? How could he die peacefully knowing millions of people would die with him? _

Zachariah was pushing him to his limits, Bobby was keeping him sane. His mom_ his beautiful and young and even more important, alive mom was _telling him that she wouldn't want her kids to be hunters. Lisa and little Ben, who counted on a nice and monster-free world. ___Who counted on__ him._

Alastair was telling him about all the things in hell. _And fucking Ruby reminded him of hell every time he saw her. Ruby who had the smell of sulfur clinging to her like a second skin. Or should he say third skin?_

And Sam. Always Sam. Sam who shot him little uncertain looks every time he thought Dean wasn't looking. Sam who sneaked out at night. Sam who looked so crestfallen when he actually faced the angels for the first time. Sam with the hard and unforgiving eyes and spiteful words.

Dean didn't know when his Sammy had died. He idly thought that it was probably at the same time a part of him had died in hell.

I have to fall  
I know a boy  
He tells stories about his dreams  
He's been working on them  
While I've ignored mine so it seems  
I've got shackles around my feet  
And their locked on just for cheats  
But I'm changing everyday  
It's me I like it this way  
What are the options  
Screw them all  
I have to fall  
Everyday's a new day  
Needing more work than the last  
I'm getting older  
And my reflections dying fast

Now that Sam thinks about it, Stanford wasn't the best time in his life. It wasn't even his second best. Sure, Jess was still the love of his life and he would have loved to marry her and have kids with her.

But that wasn't him. A part of him would have always been with Dean and his Dad and maybe even his Mom. A part of him always had known that he couldn't have that life of peace and freedom he liked to picture for himself.

That he didn't even _want_ that life for himself anymore. To see suspicious murders in the news every morning and not do anything about it. Smile at Jess and pretend everything was okay, when it was far from the truth.

Sam was good at lying to himself_ (as you could see by the Ruby and demon blood incident)_ but he wasn't _that_ good.

So right now he's comfortable. He's not okay, _hell_ he's far from it. Dean didn't trust him and Bobby wasn't the same man that he used to be. Ellen and Jo were _dead _for god's sake and he had no idea whether he could ever forgive himself for that, for letting them die.

It was the fucking _apocalypse._

And he felt _comfortable._

Because he was with Dean and maybe they still had issues to work through but they had each other. They were still family and he now knew that he could never walk out on that.

Now that Sam thinks about it – Stanford was actually the worst time in his life.


End file.
